Oceanic Echo
by Razer Athane
Summary: I was supposed to survive, my Father once said. -Oneshot-


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: So how about that new Sam Claflin photoshoot? Lol. This though, uh, just randomly appeared. Something I have always been interested in is some family relationships outside of the Everdeens. Enjoy.

* * *

**OCEANIC ECHO**

* * *

_Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea._

* * *

"Can I come out on the boat today?"

"I think you're old enough now. Hop on."

I can't help but feel excited. My Dad's Captain of a fishing ship known as the Avid Angler. There's a lot of other fishing ships, but Mum always said that Dad catches the best fish. I'm yet to see the people down at the markets dispute this claim.

He trades them down at the market, you see. Sometimes for oysters, other times for other rarer foods. I see the things he catches. They're always big and healthy, and people always smile when they see that they're good. Dad's even caught marlins before. I remember the first time he came back to the harbour with one. I was really young.

The ship soon leaves. The smell of the sea is strong and almost overwhelming, even for me. The people are busy wandering about, checking nets – I like nets - and moving things. Some are asking Dad questions. The ship is busy, alive. There are even seagulls perched on the highest reaches of Avid Angler, waiting for the catches, waiting for the chance to steal to survive. Their shrieks reverberate in the wind.

The boat rocks on the ocean. A wide smile blooms on my face. This is where I always want to be. Here, on a boat, with my Dad. Far away from Panem and on the ocean.

Dad soon points to one of his crewmen, who is lifting a box and trying to multitask, "Go take that off his hands, would you?"

I do, and the box is heavier than I expected, but nothing that I can't manage. The man thanks me and asks me to move some other things for him while he adjusts other mechanisms. When he comes back he asks, "Your name is going in for the Hunger Games this year, right kid? Are you prepared?"

"I've trained a little." But only because it's sort of expected of me, living in a Career district.

The man huffs something before wandering off again. I flock back to my Dad, watching him bark out orders and look out to the great sea. When everyone quietens down and as the boat slows, Dad hands me a harpoon and holds one for himself.

He's trained me a little in how to use one, for fishing and for combat. My older brothers are much better at it than me, but I think with time I'll be alright at it. I like the nets and knots more, because it improves my chances by restricting the opponent. Dad takes me through a few standard strikes, the usual warm up. Disarming blows and finishing touches to animals and humans. He always says that he wants to make sure I know how to survive.

"Remember, think of it as extensions of your arm. Always think about your moves. Don't ever let your guard down. You must survive," Dad says. I watch him as he flawlessly circles the harpoon above his head with a single hand. I try to do it myself with both my hands, but I fumble a few times; still, he seems pleased. The harpoon is heavy.

"Sir," a man shouts, "We've found a large school of tuna."

Dad puts the harpoon back down on the ground, but I hold onto the one he gave me. He tells me to practice a little more, to be careful and to watch what the men do, seeing as this is the first time I've been on the boat. I smile, running my fingers over the same metal spot of the harpoon in my hands, "I'll help where I can."

"I hope your name never gets called for the Games, Finnick," Dad says softly, thereafter turning away.

* * *

No matter how many times I remember Dad saying he hopes I never get called up two years ago... No matter how hard I wished that this was a dream, I still got called up. I've still had to do terrible things that will haunt me for the rest of my life, but entertain Capitol citizens for merely a year.

It's become almost too easy to numb myself now towards the end of my Games. I've taken out more tributes than I care to admit, but I know I'll always remember the look on their faces before I tore their life from them. My mentor, a wonderful elderly lady named Mags, mentioned to me once that she still knows the last words of every tribute she killed.

I wonder if I will too.

It's easier to kill if I think about my family. That's all I want – I want to go back to my family. I want to go back on the boats with Dad. I want to remember the life I once had, not the one that I'm in now or will have to face if I leave this arena. I've seen some of the other victor's faces. Sunken, weary and drained. And I know that's my future now, if I'm fortunate enough to get out.

When I drive the trident – a beautiful gift from sponsors in the Capitol – through the torso of a much older girl, I think about my future self. Will he be trying to relive the 'glory days' of his Games? Will he fight tooth and nail to stay in the spotlight, to milk the Games for all they're worth? Or will he crumble, with or without a crutch? Maybe he will grow a spine and learn to fight against this cruelty.

Maybe it'll a combination of things. Maybe I will be manipulating _them_ like they have manipulated an entire nation for sixty-five years. An echo of a wrongdoing.

As the cannon sounds off and the sound of metal being pulled from flesh fills my ears, I know at least one thing that will happen to me once I am out of this stupid arena. I will surround myself with good people. So that I can at least spend the remainder of my days trying to make them happy, and their smiles will at least dull the ache in my chest.

I will survive. I will survive for them.

All I have to do now is wait for the other two tributes. Or wait for the Gamemakers to push us together or kill us themselves. Whichever comes first. All I know is, I'm ready. All I know is, I'm not going down without a fight. I want to see my family. I want to go back on the boats with Dad. I _need_ the ocean. And I will hold onto those memories of sea salt spray and slightly burnt fish. I will hold onto them until my dying breath, or the relieved one comes.

I know it'll be a long time before I remember how to breathe.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear another cannon go off. Now there's just me and someone else. Someone else who will have to die so I can taste that sea salt and that slightly burnt fish again. Someone else who will have to die so I'll remember how to breathe. Soon.

Dad, I'm coming home.

* * *

Surround myself with good people, I said.

Remember the sea salt spray, I said. It doesn't feel familiar to me anymore. The way Mum would slightly burn the fish, I said. It tastes strange now. The way that Dad's boat would rock because of the water and the joy that I used to feel when I'd be on it. At least that's sort of the same. Remember everything that was good, so I could go back to it when I got out.

I still have nightmares, even though my Games were two years ago. I guess there was a part of me that expected that they would go away, to survive and recover completely. What a dumb thing to think. Mags has been a real help. She often hobbles to my house in the Victor's Village with a warm tea in the morning. But it's not that sort of thing that's disturbing me.

This, this is new. This thing that President Snow makes me do because I'm so popular. These... pent up feelings that these Capitol people have for me, that I never noticed when I was younger... is new. Of course no one I care about knows. No one in my family, and not Mags. Because this is just one of those dirty little Capitol things that needs to be kept under the rug. Dad worries about me.

There are marks, red lines sliding down my skin. Some of them are marks I've made to try and relieve the new itch that's presented itself. To try and get rid of the dirt that I swear I've removed ten times already. Their voices reverberate on my skin. And others are from... other people who tell me I'm handsome. Who tell me I'm special and that they love me. But people who love someone don't do things like this.

"Finnick?"

It's an effort to tear my head away from the waves. The wood grinds a little underneath my feet as I look to my Dad, who is standing there beside Mags. Mags raises her arm a little and gives a slight wave. They approach slowly, as though they're scared I'll jump off or flee. I admit I've considered running away, but where to? And how long for? At what cost? Everyone knows my face. Everyone knows my stupid goddamn face.

Soon they are beside me. Mags finds my hand and grips it. Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. I look up at him and see nothing but concern. Maybe because I'm changing. Maybe because I've been forced to change. Because I sure don't feel like the Finnick that left District Four two years ago to become a murderer. "Everything alright, son?"

I feel Mags squeeze my hand in an attempt to try and convince me to _say_ something. But I don't. My lips are sealed shut. I won't risk my family because of sick desires that I have to endure. I'll be okay. I'll survive, because I survived the Games. Because I survived a hard enough life before hand. Because I can still survive my nightmares.

"Still adjusting. Still surviving," I say, because it's all I can say. The words echo in my skull. They sound wrong. They feel wrong. But my whole _life_ has been so very wrong from the moment I was Reaped.

I can't bear to look at their faces. I feel Mags release my hand and her dejected and weary sigh cuts me deeply. I hear Dad mutter something unintelligible before they both walk away. I don't know I manage to stand there with my head held high. I don't know how I managed to not scratch my arms in their presence.

Surround myself with good people so I have to deal with _their_ disappointment.

The water slowly rocks against the pier.

* * *

I still remember the sound of disappointment in Dad's and Mags' voices. The way that I felt like I was suffocating because I couldn't say a thing, that it was a struggle to breathe and survive as it was. Because no one could truly help me.

But it is worse now, much worse because people _know._

They don't know specifics, but they know now for sure that it's part of my job requirement, and has been for the past two years, that I'm to entertain and please whoever I'm told to. And I'm told to _like it._ The rumours have spread to every district, and no matter how hard I tried to push them out of Four... they are still here.

And now this year I have to lead someone to their death. This year I have to be a mentor too, and it terrifies me. And the Capitol knows it. That's probably why they've been pushing out these... facts... about what I do. To see if I'll break. To see what else they can do to me. Well I won't let them snap me in half.

"Why didn't you say anything? This is illegal, this is wrong! And now you have to mentor too!" Dad screams. It echoes out into the water. We are alone on the shoreline. Mum, Mags and my older brothers are... somewhere else. I don't know where, but they weren't home when Dad asked to go for a walk with me. I'm too drained to keep tabs today. Dad repeats the question, and the anger in his voice forces me from my numb state.

"You know what the Capitol is like," I reply curtly, desperately trying to focus on the hissing sounds of the ocean. My hands are making fists behind my back. For so long I tried to prepare myself for this day. "If they don't think sending in innocent children to fight to the death is wrong, then of course they will see nothing wrong with prostitution."

"You were supposed to _survive_."

The air suddenly feels thick and cold around me. I muster enough courage to look at Dad, who's leaning on his forearm against one of the pier's legs. He's looking to the shallow water as though he is ashamed to be around me. As though I'm disgusting, and I agree. Because I am. I have been from the moment I killed my first tribute. How can anyone find a killer attractive like the Capitol does? I'm not alone in my slavery. Not in _that_ or as a mentor.

Dad raises a hand and covers his face. "You, all of you, all of my boys... You're supposed to survive and not break. Not be made to relive horrible memories or do horrible things."

No, not ashamed to be around me. Ashamed that he couldn't do anything more. Devastated, even.

Since this began, since they would say one thing and then do another... I can't stand to be touched. Only Mags seemed to notice the way that I'd cringe, so even she stopped holding my hand from time to time. But I find enough strength somewhere in myself to walk over and try to give Dad a hug. But he slips away and looks at me in the eye. "This is not what you were supposed to be."

It cuts me deeper than I expected, as though he's talking like I have a choice in the matter. Like I have a choice in my clients, what I say, what I do; to deny this chance to maybe try and save someone from the arena... and watch twenty three others die either way.

Anger starts stirring in my belly, and the words pour out like fire before I know what's happening. "What do you want me to say, Dad?! This is who I have to be now!"

This is who I have to be to ensure the safety of my family. This is who I have to be to... to make sure the Capitol goes on as it is. This is who I have to be so it doesn't get any stronger, so maybe someday, maybe one day someone can make a difference. Maybe someone can strike the very heart of a nation and rip it apart.

Dad embraces me before I register the frustrating crawl on my skin. I think he's mumbling again, but I can't hear what. So instead I think about how we used to be when we would stand here. How it used to be a man and a boy that stood by the sea, watching the boats come in and the way that the sun would glint off the stillness.

I would give anything to have those times back. Anything.

* * *

Two years on, I'd still give anything to have those times back. But more importantly I'd give anything to have my Father back.

I can't look at boats without thinking of him, especially knowing that that's how he drowned. That the Avid Angler was lost in a storm, took my Father down with it and all of his crew. Even though it's been months since the incident, I still find that my eyes blur the moment I see a sail. I don't think I will ever go on a boat again...

The prostitution is worse. They are violent. They tell me secrets that I don't want to hear, but I absorb them anyway, like a sponge. Maybe they will come in handy one day. Maybe I will be stronger one day and will be able to use them.

Sometimes I find myself wandering my old home, the one we used to live in before I won the 65th Hunger Games. I find myself trying to recreate memories, trying to grasp what remains of my Father. I've even taken up his habit of tying knots because it relieves the tension... and I need to keep my mind together for what remains of my family, and for Mags and Annie.

Annie is the newest Victor – or should I say survivor? – in District Four. And like me, like Mags, she has suffered. Just differently. We all have nightmares, we all lose our individuality and even our morals, but Annie... is sick. And I feel it's my job to protect her from the Capitol. Because the Capitol made her this way to begin with, an echo of who she once was. And because she crept up on me.

God, I love her. For who she was, for how she is, for how bright she makes my world. I just wish that she hadn't been so hurt by the Games.

Annie's hands settle over my own and try to take the rope out of my hands. I pull my hands away, desperate to hold onto the rope, to try and maintain some kind of control. She instead gently runs her fingertips over my knuckles and guides me out of my old home and all the way to the shore.

For once, there are no boats. It's calm, like I want to be. My hands slow on the well-worn rope. I just stand there and listen. I listen to the softer waves and the way they rush over my feet. I listen to the gulls in the far distance, starving and searching for more. I listen to the soft sound of Annie's voice as she tries to hum and distract me.

And if I listen really closely, I swear I can hear my Father telling me that he will always love me.

* * *

More accidents. More deaths. A repetitive cycle that the Capitol has established. And I have nothing but my mentor and my Victor. We survivors.

Who'd have thought life could change so much in eight years? I have found comfort in the other Victors, the only people who could understand how I possibly feel. Cashmere, who's forced to do the same things as me. Haymitch, who drinks every single goddamn day because that's how he has to cope. Johanna, so powerful and alight with unparalleled fury. And there is always Mags and Annie, the two people I love most in the whole of Panem.

But my Mother and my brothers, they are gone. And they will never come back, because the Capitol saw it fit to eliminate distractions. To keep me in line in case I dared to stray, and to continue to dangle Mags and Annie above my head.

We're all sitting on the couch while I obsessively tie knots. Annie's tried to lead me to the beach again but I refuse to go. I just want to sit here all day and not have them out of my sight. The only reason I comply and go to the Capitol is so that what is precious to me, what remains isn't taken away.

The Capitol has taken everything away from me. My strength, my dignity, my honesty and my hope. My Father, my Mother and my brothers. The relative safety and understanding of the life I once had in District Four. There is nothing left for me except Annie and Mags. And I _refuse_ to let anything happen to them.

I will find my strength again. It will sew me together, bit by bit, piece by piece until I am whole again. I will find my dignity and my honesty, and I will hold them tightly in my bloodstained hands. And when I find hope once more, when I find the will to fight and to try and make change happen, then President Snow better watch out.

Of course I'm upset about the rest of my family being killed, but I think I've changed since my Father died. It's not that I didn't love them, it's just... it didn't hurt as much as before. Maybe I've become numb, or maybe I've grown wiser. Maybe I know now for sure that this is how the world works. That it's ridiculously unfair and that things happen in cycles, in echoes.

Maybe one day I can stand on the pier again, look out to the wide ocean and not be tempted to accidentally fall off. Maybe one day I can stand there, look out and appreciate how beautiful this world really is. How, although I've been unlucky, there is still good in my life. Good worth fighting for.

* * *

I was supposed to _survive,_ my Father once said.

Everything hurts. Teeth sink into my flesh so easily, like it's nothing. The monkeys in the Quarter Quell were nothing compared to this. And those monkeys were nothing compared to the pain of losing my family two years ago, and my Father, and the prostitution, and my Games...

I can feel my muscles giving way to the lizard mutts. I try to shout, but nothing comes out. When I look up, I see her there, hope, Katniss, the Mockingjay; she continues to climb with Peeta, Gale and the others. They are fine. They will live. They will change the world where I couldn't. They will make it better for Annie... Annie and...

I was supposed to _survive_ and not break, my Father once said. Maybe he was wrong in how he thought. Maybe we were all born into this world already broken, and what was ahead of us was learning how to cope with it. How to put yourselves back together so that we could survive.

Would he be proud of me? He never hated me for what I had to do. He never asked much once he learnt, only that I was to be careful and to see how I am... What would he have thought of the world I tried to help build? At the end of it all would we have gone out on the Avid Angler and just sat there underneath the sun?

I can barely see his face anymore, when I close my eyes and try to draw the inspiration to climb. But I can't. I can't hear him. I can't hear my Mother or my brothers, not even the faintest echo. There is no strength left. The smell of the sea suddenly appears out of nowhere, and it's immensely comforting. I should've gone back one last time.

The last things I remember are the mast of a boat, silver parachute, Beetee's trident, Mags' laugh... Annie in her wedding dress. Annie when she told me she would be waiting for me to come back. Annie when she told me that she was carrying our living legacy.

And the son I'll never take out into the ocean.

* * *

_And watched you tower over me  
Now I'm older, I wanna be the same as you._


End file.
